


A Rescue

by sternenblumen



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Captivity, Comfortember 2020, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenblumen/pseuds/sternenblumen
Summary: The Inseparables will always come for each other. This time is no exception - they will find Athos and get him out.A continuation of Whumptober 2020Day 1andDay 5, originally written for Comfortember 2020.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	A Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> So. This was actually supposed to be Comfortember Day 1. I wrote it and then basically sat on it all of November because life happened. 
> 
> Anyway, even if it's incredibly late, here it is. Since it was supposed to continue (and complete) two of my Whumptober fics, it might be good to read those first if you haven't yet but it can also work as a standalone, I guess. Enjoy!

Porthos narrowed his eyes at the buildings before them and at the lack of activity around them. “Almost looks like nobody's home,” he murmured, and Aramis next to him made a small noise of agreement in the back of his throat. “D'you think he's still here?”

On his other side, d'Artagnan flinched, and Porthos absent-mindedly reached out and patted the Gascon's back. He knew the lad was still all cut up about fleeing and leaving Athos behind but Porthos didn't think ill of him for it, and nether did Aramis. Which they had reassured him of, repeatedly and at length. Obviously, it still needed to find root in that thick head of his.

“It's nice of you to think so highly of me, Porthos, but unfortunately, my large number of talents does not include divination,” Aramis gave back with a bit of a frustrated bite to it. “There's nothing to do about it but try and find out.”

d'Artagnan cleared his throat nervously. “I saw a back door there,” he said, indicating a side of the main building. “It looked like it might be the kitchen?” He looked at them with those big, hopeful eyes that made Porthos feel as if he were two metres tall, never mind that d'Artagnan was almost the same height he was. He hadn't looked at Aramis and him like that for a while, the hero worship was usually reserved for Athos these days, but the whole mess had him revert to some of the behaviour of his earlier days with them, it seemed. Well, as soon as they had Athos back with them, he would hopefully find his feet again.

“I'll check it out,” Aramis said with a nod and deposited his arquebus unceremoniously in Porthos' hands, taking off his hat and placing it on d'Artagnan's head with a wink. “Look after those for me, will you?” he said. Standing up, he sauntered over towards the building in an unbothered stroll as if he was just happening to come by the place on his Sunday walk. Never mind that it wasn't Sunday.

He disappeared around the edge of the building, and Porthos tensed, waiting for any sign that something was wrong and Aramis needed help. But it took barely any time for the sharpshooter to reappear and wave at them eagerly to come and join him. Porthos clapped d'Artagnan on the back and went ahead, trusting that the young man would follow.

When they reached Aramis, he was leaning in the frame of the opened back door, arms crossed and the picture of relaxation. Behind him, there was a large, empty room, with a stove and cupboards that indicated that d'Artagnan had guessed right: It was the kitchen. Since it was late, there was only a faintly smouldering heap of ashes in the hearth, some pots and pans scattered over the counter-tops. No one was around, though the remains of the fire showed that the house had not been completely abandoned.

“Alright, careful and quiet,” Aramis breathed. He reclaimed his hat but left his arquebus outside, drawing his sword instead and motioning them to follow. Porthos nodded, and he followed on near-silent feet as Aramis went ahead and d'Artagnan again brought up the rear.

The house continued to be eerily quiet until they reached a front room. As soon as Aramis gave the door a careful push, a loud growl reverberated through the hallway and nearly made Porthos jump out of his skin. It took a moment for his heart rate to calm down and for him to identify the sound: Someone was snoring. With a lot of enthusiasm and intensity.

Aramis, biting the ends of his moustache to keep himself from laughing, leaned over and peered into the room, then leaned back and shook his head at them. “They're all asleep,” he reported in a low voice. “And from the look of all those empty bottles, they had their fun with the Marquis' wine cellar.”

Porthos snorted. “Good for them. It'll probably be the last fun they had for a while – or forever,” he replied. “We can leave them and search the rest of the house first?”

Aramis nodded and, after a last short glance into the room, pulled the door shut carefully, then waved at them to turn around. Porthos gave d'Artagnan a light shove to go ahead and take the lead, and the Gascon obediently moved back towards where they had seen some stairs branching off the hallway they were in. They took the stairs downwards and found themselves in another hallway but of the dark and dank cellar variety. d'Artagnan stopped and held up a hand, then quickly backed up two steps. Porthos just narrowly avoided bumping into Aramis when he did the same.

“Guard,” the young man hissed, halfway between wary and excited. Porthos decided to go with excited. A guard meant there was something to guard, obviously, and if they were lucky, that something was a prisoner. And if they were even more lucky, it was Athos.

They stood still in the half-shadow of the staircase, observing the guard quietly. He looked bored, twirling a set of keys around his fingers and occasionally glancing around half-heartedly. His sword was sheathed, and the spear he had in addition was out of his reach, leaning against the wall a few steps from him. Porthos shook his head and gave his brothers a wide grin. The whole thing was turning out pretty easy, and he didn't mind it one bit, even if he'd have liked to have a chance to fight a bit and make sure the men knew how much of a mistake they had made kidnapping a Musketeer, and moreover one of the Inseparables.

The other two returned the grin, even d'Artagnan looking more cheerful than he had ever since they had met up with him, and Aramis made a sweeping “After you!” gesture. He didn't have to tell Porthos twice. Sliding his sword back into its sheath, he took a deep breath and then shot out of the stairwell like a cannonball from its barrel. A few large steps brought him to the guard within seconds, and before a shout could escape the man's open mouth, a meaty hand clapped down on it and smothered any sound while the momentum carried them another few steps past the door the guard had been watching. Porthos just retracted his hand in time to replace it with his fist planted in the middle of the man's face, and he crumbled to the ground. The big fighter caught his doublet in time to slow his descent slightly, enough that while it wasn't noiseless, it was hopefully quiet enough not to be heard upstairs.

Aramis and d'Artagnan joined him as he took the keys the guard had been toying with from him. He grinned with satisfaction and threw the keys at d'Artagnan. “If you'd do the honour, lad?”

The Gascon nodded and went to work finding the right key for the lock. Once a click indicated he'd been successful, he took a step back, and for a moment, he looked at the door with an expression as if the hangman was waiting behind it for him. Porthos frowned but before he could say anything, d'Artagnan clenched his jaw, straightened his shoulders and pulled the door open, stepping through it with swift, confident steps. Porthos shot a side glance to Aramis but his brother just shook his head at him. He'd noticed it too, then, but there would be time for it later. For now, there was an open door and d'Artagnan's voice calling out: “Athos!” That was all it took to set Aramis and Porthos in motion.

Inside the room, they did find a prisoner, and it was Athos. Luck was with them today. Their brother was chained to the wall, and he was looking up sluggishly at d'Artagnan kneeling before him, a hand on his shoulder. “Athos, please tell me you're alright!” the young man pleaded, his voice filled with anxious impatience.

Athos blinked at him, then turned his head towards the other arrivals, and a slow smile spread over his face. “You're here,” he breathed.

d'Artagnan looked up at Aramis beseechingly, and the medic went into caretaker mode immediately. “Move, d'Artagnan,” he requested politely but firmly as he nudged the young man aside and knelt down on the floor in front of Athos himself. “See if you can find some water for him,” he added after a look around the room. Porthos followed his gaze and scowled. It wasn't an overly large room, and it was stark in its emptiness – among others, empty of anything that indicated Athos had been given food or drink. That alone probably explained why their brother was responsive but blinking slowly, seemingly not taking in everything around him clearly.

Leaving Aramis to it – both he and Athos hated hovering, even if Porthos sometimes did it nevertheless – he followed d'Artagnan outside and went back to the guard. He was still unconscious, so Porthos made short work of using his own belt to restrain his hands behind his back and leaned him against the wall of the hallway, adding his bandanna as a gag for good measure. Taking a look into the room once more, he saw with relief that Athos sat more upright, drinking from a cup Aramis held to his lips. In the background, d'Artagnan was hovering.

“Ah, Porthos!” Aramis called out pleasantly. “If you could please come here and render your expertise? I'm afraid the keys didn't include one we really need.”

Porthos ambled over and squatted down next to Athos. “Which one?” he asked the marksman who just gestured to the manacles around Athos' wrists and ankles. With a grunt, Porthos retrieved a lock pick from a satchel on his belt and went to work.

It didn't take long until the first lock gave way – Porthos was secretly a little bit disappointed in Athos, he should have been able to get out of those on his own. Not that it would have helped, necessarily, given that the room didn't have a window and the door had been locked from the outside. The second lock followed swiftly, and maybe five minutes later, Athos was free, and Aramis was inspecting his wrists carefully. “A bit abraded and red but nothing major,” he finally said, “and I take it the water helped, too?” He raised an eyebrow at Athos, and their brother nodded.

“Yes,” he replied hoarsely, then swallowed and coughed, “I'm better, thank you, my friends.” He took Aramis' offered hand readily and rose, still a bit unsteady on his feet. Porthos stood up, too, and stepped closer, not touching him but offering his bulk for support should Athos need it.

The eldest Musketeer's gaze was directed at d'Artagnan who was holding himself carefully apart, looking slightly pale and lost. Athos opened his mouth but before he could say something, d'Artagnan burst out: “Athos, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, I should never have left you behind, we should have fought together, I should have gotten you out earlier, I should have--- This shouldn't have happened, I'm sorry!”

Porthos and Aramis exchanged a look behind Athos' back and rolled their eyes in concert. Of course …

Athos, on the other hand, had stilled at the outburst. Now, he took a deliberate step forward and put a careful hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. The Gascon's head was hanging low, his hair obscuring his features, hands clenched at his sides. “d'Artagnan, look at me,” Athos said calmly. He waited a moment until his protégé raised his head and met his eyes, if somewhat unwillingly. “I don't know what exactly happened and what you did – I woke up in here, and the few times someone came, they would not tell me what happened to you. It was my greatest fear and sorrow that you might be lost to us, to me.”

d'Artagnan gaped at him, unbelieving at those warm words. Porthos exchanged another glance with Aramis – it was rare to hear Athos speak so freely. He must have been very afraid for d'Artagnan indeed. Well, several days spent with nothing but your own thoughts for company were a test of strength for any man, especially for someone like Athos whose own thoughts often were his worst enemy.

“So imagine my joy in seeing you unharmed,” Athos continued. “And not only that, but you came back and brought my other brothers with you to get me out of here.” He looked over his shoulder back at the other two and gave them one of his rare smiles. “You did well, and you don't have anything to apologise for.”

“But--” d'Artagnan started again but Athos only shook his head and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Porthos stepped forward and to d'Artagnan's side, clapping him on the opposite shoulder. “There,” he told him, “maybe you'll believe him if you don't wanna hear it from Aramis and me.” Despite the gruffness of his tone, he grinned at the young man when he looked up to meet his eyes.

d'Artagnan blushed slightly and ducked his head. “I just---” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I hear you,” he finally said, and he pulled back his shoulders and stood straighter.

Porthos nodded, satisfied. “There you go.”

Athos took a step back, letting go of d'Artagnan. “Well then, gentlemen,” he said, “I freely admit I can't wait to leave the questionable hospitality under this roof. If you please?” He made a gesture, and d'Artagnan went ahead with a smile that looked as if a weight had been lifted from him. Aramis, himself not completely innocent in the hovering department, the hypocrite, took the rear and indicated to Porthos to stay close to Athos who seemed to have rallied well but couldn't have fully shaken the effects of his imprisonment.

As they made their way outside, Athos leaned towards him and murmured: “By the way? The boot is a horrible hiding place for a lock pick. At least when they've chained you at the ankles.”

**Author's Note:**

> I actually realised while editing today that there's still a plot hole - no one knows what happened with the Marquis, and nobody cares. That includes me 😏. If you will, just imagine that the boys figured out he was held somewhere else and went to rescue him once Athos has recovered a bit.
> 
> I hope you liked it! If so, please leave me a kudos or comment, they make writers happy 😊.


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